


In Minutes

by thesunsethour



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Schizophrenia, Season 7 Episode 11, aka Spencers 30th birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunsethour/pseuds/thesunsethour
Summary: The risk of developing schizophrenia dramatically decreases after the age of 30, Spencer Reid had discovered at the age of 10 after a long night of research.Sometimes it felt like his life was one large countdown.
Relationships: Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid
Comments: 6
Kudos: 110





	In Minutes

There are  
360 months,  
1564.286 weeks,  
10950 days,  
262800 hours,   
15768000 minutes or  
94608000 seconds  
in 30 years.

Since Spencer Reid was old enough to accurately conceptualise time, he had been fascinated with its progression. He would count the minutes as they passed by to himself in class aimlessly whilst the other children in his grade finished the work he had completed almost an hour earlier. He would tap his fingers against the varnished wood of his school desk in time with the ticking of the second-hand of the old clock that hung at the top of the classroom. (The clock ran exactly one minute fast). Counting how long certain activities took became second nature to him by the age of 10.

The walk to school took 38.23 minutes on an average day, but could vary from 35.47 to 43.81 depending on the weather or if he had to take an alternate route to avoid certain jocks who would gladly arrive late to first period if it meant getting the opportunity to kick him around a little before classes.

The walk to the grocery store where he had to stand on his tip-toes to see over the counter to pay for the groceries that his Mom forgot to buy that week took 7.13 minutes as long as the junction was relatively quiet and no teenagers on their bikes decided to hassle him.

It had been 119520 minutes since his father had left, and 119519 since he realised that he would need to do some serious research on schizophrenia. And learn how to cook dinner. And pay the bills.

The 9.20 minute walk back from the local library to his house was often slowed down to 11.32 minutes due to the weight of several large medical journals on his mother’s illness weighing on his thin arms.

At exactly 03:28 in the morning, 84 days after his father left, he learned, with tired eyes and a frown, that he had an increased predisposition to schizophrenia, and that in men it tended to manifest itself in the late teens to mid-twenties. Spencer was 10 years old when he calculated that by age 30 the odds would be in his favour. By age 30 it was highly unlikely he would even develop schizophrenia at all.

At 03:31 that morning, as he took off his glasses and crawled under his blanket, he swore that he would cure schizophrenia even earlier, by 25.

Of course, life rarely works out in the way we envision as children, even for someone with an IQ of 187.

He spent his 30th birthday at work, this time in Philadelphia investigating an UNSUB involved in the underground boxing scene. It was a hectic case, coming soon after a series of equally hectic cases, and so Spencer found that he didn’t mind when his team forgot about his birthday. Between Emily’s return, Rossi’s ex-wife’s death, and the million other insane occurrences that their job exposes them to on a daily basis, he honestly couldn’t blame them for it.

This logic didn’t make the quiet walk from the metro station to his apartment (4.84 minutes) any easier. He felt nearly dizzy with unwarranted relief. There had been plenty of recorded instances of men experiencing schizophrenic breaks in their 30s and even early 40s. There was no guarantee that he was in the clear; in fact, he still woke up with a mild headache even on good days. There was, however, a part of his brain that he could not shut down. A thought that he struggled to compartmentalize. It reared itself as he unlocked his door and closed it behind him, as he slid down the plastered wall and dropped his keys. It flung itself to the forefront of his mind as he braced his hands on his knees and leaned his head back so that he was staring at the ceiling.

He made it.

It was as if his life up until this point had been one large countdown. Every breath he took seemed to him identical to the sound of the seconds ticking away on the old school clock back in Las Vegas. As a child it had irritated him that the clock ran a minute fast. It often felt like his life was ever so slightly out of sync with reality. When he was 25, however, instead of having cured schizophrenia, he lay on the ground in that cold, dilapidated shack not breathing for exactly one minute. He couldn’t help but feel that it was inevitable. 

Spencer Reid was a man of science; he didn’t readily believe in coincidences or miracles.

And yet the clock of his childhood left time for his momentary death, and he had reached 30 without succumbing to the illness that had stolen so much from his mother.

Sitting on the floor of his apartment, he didn’t know whether to celebrate or to cry.

He was alone, so he figured it didn’t really matter.

-

Life went on, as life tends to do. More cases came and went, and Spencer succeeded, for the most part, in portraying an air of general well-being. There was no need to worry anyone. After all, nothing was wrong. He had reached his goal. (Half his goal, his brain reminded him. Schizophrenia remains uncurable.)

Nothing was wrong, but Emily found him anyway, sitting alone in some random coffee shop in San Francisco trying to crack the latest code this UNSUB had left for them. He let it slip, momentarily, accidentally. She thought that he was 29, and automatically he corrected her. He couldn’t explain why he hadn’t told them.

He should have known, after more than five years of knowing her, through life and through death, that Emily Prentiss wasn’t one to lay down and do nothing. Still, he couldn’t claim to have been expecting the impromptu birthday party that he was greeted with when he arrived in work a few days later. A smile came to his face, unbidden and unstoppable. “Nothing is accidental”, Emily had told him, and he thought of clocks and of minds.

And, hours later, as he prepared to leave the now-empty bullpen for the walk to the metro station, that became true once again. Emily was waiting for him at the door, holding out her arm in a silent offer to walk together, and he couldn’t help but smile again. As they strolled through the night, just basking in the comfort of a true friend, he realised that he wasn’t counting the minutes. He huffed a laugh at this, which made itself shown in the cool winter air.

“Everything alright?” 

Emily had her head turned towards him with a curious look in her eyes. He contemplated for a moment brushing aside his thought, but almost unconsciously found himself speaking, as often happens.

“Some days I just can’t quite believe I made it, you know.”

At her furrowed brow, he quickly expanded; “To 30, I mean.”

Her face softened, and as the metro station appeared in their line of sight, she turned fully to face him.

“We’re all really proud of you, Reid. Please don’t forget that.”

Spencer nodded softly and began to wave a hand in goodbye before stopping himself and forcing his eyes to meet hers.

“Some days, not all days, but some days… I feel pretty proud of myself too.”

And if Emily hugged him tight after that, and his hands tapped the seconds the embrace lasted on the fabric of her jacket, well, Spencer had always been fascinated with time.

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone this is my first time posting for criminal minds i hope you enjoy!! i am obsessed with the friendship between reid and prentiss and so this little piece was written <3
> 
> please be nice xoxo


End file.
